


Belong to

by 1989Rad



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Clothing Kink, Confident Damian, Damian and Tim have been together for like a year, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Established Tim/Damian, M/M, Marking, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, but only after Insecure Damian, jon is a good friend, name kink, trying new things with your partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21646888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1989Rad/pseuds/1989Rad
Summary: Tim is a clothing thief. It’s common knowledge and Damain accepts this.What Damian doesn't accept is the fact that Tim seems to steal everyone’s clothes but his own.
Relationships: Jon Lane Kent & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Damian Wayne
Comments: 14
Kudos: 427
Collections: Tim Drake





	Belong to

**Author's Note:**

> Tim is 27 in this and Damian is 24. 
> 
> I put Damian at Gotham State University to diversify a bit. Tim gets accepted in Detective Comics to Ivy University which is a fake MIT rival but I imagine Gotham State is more like real-life Penn state. It works cause Penn state has a phenomenal medical school.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jon mused as his thumb caressed the underside of a small rock. “But I think you’d be mad either way.” 

Damian let the words drop in the space between them. Jon squatted on the banks of the lake as Damian sat on a slightly elevated log. The sentiment laid flat in the mud. Unacknowledged. 

Jon dropped the rock in his hand to grab at a smoother one. He didn’t look back at his friend. 

They both let the words sink in the mud.

Damian forced a deep breath through his nose. His teeth were clenched shut and tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth. Coiled tightly alongside his petty frustrations. 

Jealousy. Possessiveness. Want. 

All the ugly things Damian had tried to subdue since arriving on his Father’s doorstep at ten years old. 

“Like,” Jon continued, “if he did steal your clothes you would be complaining about that.”

“I wouldn’t.” 

“You would,” Jon met Damian’s stare. His blue eyes were inhumanly bright against the fading colors of fall. Damian jaw snapped shut and he filled his chest with a deliberate focus. 

Jon stood without strain. No cracking kneecaps. No push off the ground. No grunt or unnecessary noise. It had been years since Jon returned from his time in space, but the ease at which his best friend seemed to grow still irked him. 

Jon had seen each moment of adolescent awkwardness Damian suffered through. Jon’s, however, were locked away. Somewhere past Damian’s reach. 

“Do you remember your art gallery last year,” Jon began planting his feet. Rolling his shoulders he began to reel back. “When you let me borrow your shirt cause I spilled wine all over myself.”

Damian breathed out as he spoke, “Of course. I couldn’t let you attend with a massive stain on yo-”

“You reminded me over twenty times how to wash it. Where you bought it. What it cost. Who mad-”

“Alfred bought it for me,” Damian defended but kept his eyes on his friend’s form. 

Jon didn’t argue. Just twisted forward and the rock flew more than halfway across the lake. It skipped twice before embedding itself in the opposite bank with a wet thud. They both winced as the birds above shrieked. 

They flew from their perches, spotting the sky black. Jon looked back at Damian with a touch a disappointment. Damian inspected the ground below. A small portion had shifted. 

“You pushed off.” Jon glanced down at the dirt and groaned. “You’re doing better,” Damian reassured. “If you can keep your feet still the original throw won’t go as far.”

Jon rolled his jaw and let loose a heavy sigh. “It’s hard enough keeping my elbow and shoulder from moving.” 

“It's still much better. The rock skipped twice.” 

Jon kicked at a rock he had inspected and rejected earlier. It shot forward, banging into a larger, cracking a path to the center. 

His eyes narrowed.

The two kept quiet. The birds were no longer heard. The lapping of the lake echoed as the only noise. The crisp yet wet air cut through their silent breathing.

“You’re right,” Jon agreed, dropping back to the ground. 

“You used to control it better,” Damian tutted. 

“There is no reason to control it when I’m with the legion,” Jon explained, turning over a few more rocks. “Just like there is no reason for you to be mad right now.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Sorry, I meant jealous.”

Damian sprung to his feet, “I’m not jealous!”

Jon fell back off his heels to sit on the ground. A lopsided grin tugged at his cheeks. “You are. You’re jealous Tim wears other people’s clothes, but not yours.”

“Jealousy is not what I am feeling.” The words Jon had released, sprung from Damian in a manner that was both embarrassing and relieving. “I just don’t understand why he hasn’t asked. I do not care if he wears Stephanie’s sweatshirts or Bart’s earmuffs. What I don’t understand is why he hasn’t borrowed so much as a scarf from me.”

“Have you offered?”

“Of course I have offered! Each time he has declined.”

“Well, how do you offer?”

Bewildered, Damian hopped off his perch to stand above Jon. “Politely.” 

At that Jon laughed, falling back into the mud. “Yeah,” he mused between giggles, “You’re always so polite.”

“I’m serious,” Damian emphasized walking to stand over Jon’s head. The superboy smiled up at him and Damian felt some of his own laughter creep up his throat. Jon’s joy was dangerously contagious. 

Jon lifted his hands to mime out his words. “So you politely offer your clothes to Tim and he says no.”

“No thank you.”

Jon snorted. “Ah, so he is also extra polite in this retelling.” 

Damian’s mouth quirked but he forced it to flatten. “You’re not helping.”

Jon swung his arms back to grab at Damian’s laces. He pulled at a string undoing the bow. He did the same with the other shoe as he spoke, “I just don’t see the problem. Just ask him to wear your clothes.” 

Damian reeled back and out of Jon’s mud-caked fingers. “I cannot ask him to wear my clothes. He’s a grown man.” 

Jon rolled onto his stomach and snickered. “And you're a college student slash prince! How do you make it work?”

“Shut up.”

“No,” Jon popped back into a push-up position. “Just give him your pre-med varsity jacket.” 

“They don’t make those.”

Jon pushed off the ground to stand perfectly. Strength and flight ensuring the movement looked as otherworldly as possible, “and then you two can go to homecoming together.” 

Damian’s jaw creaked, trapping his thoughts again. Jon raised his brow and waited patiently. 

Always patiently. 

“He,” Damian almost spat, diverting from the eye contract, “will think it’s stupid.”

Damian refused to look at the deep sympathy Jon’s face had no doubt became shrouded in. 

“He’s not going to think it’s stupid Damian.”

“He will. He will see it as childish as you’ve just pointed out. The only people who ask their partners to wear their clothes are high schoolers.”

Damian was now fully turned to face the lake. A swift breeze was stirring up tiny waves at the center. He focused on the subtle movement. 

Jon’s hip knocked against him. 

“That’s not true,” he sang and Damian allowed Jon to press his their shoulders together. “My mom wears my dad’s stuff all the-”

“I don’t wish to hear about your parents courting rituals.” Damian ignored the laughter and continued, “and I don’t wish to imply Tim is the more feminine one of the relationship.” 

Jon hummed while he processed Damian’s concern. “Does Tim worry about that?”

“The internet adores speculating since our relationship has become public.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yes.”

“They know you’re both men right?”

“Jon.”

“Like super jacked men.”

Damian sighed, “It seems that heterosexual gender norms still get forced upon queer couples by the media.”

Jon tutted. “Screw that.”

“Yeah.”

“No. I mean it.” Jon hopped to step into Damian’s line of sight. “Screw that. Don’t let what Vikki Vale or anyone else says affect how you and Tim show affection.”

Damian’s nose scrunched. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Jon stepped to further crowd his friend. “Just tell Tim you want him to wear your clothes and I’m sure he will understand.”

“Or he will think I’m being possessive.”

Jon spun away and resumed his search for flat rocks. “Tim likes you. He agreed to date you. If he didn’t want to be at least, a little bit possessed by you, he would be gone by now.”

Damian stared out over his squatted friend toward the lake. His mind drifted to the thought of Tim in one of his university sweaters. Another to the thought of his gold and red tie in Tim’s finger. The last was him bundled under Damian’s scarf as they walked through the garden.

A shiver ran up his spine.

Tim, in nothing but Damian’s Burberry button-down. Plaid only on the rolled sleeves, and embroidered with the name, Damian Wayne. 

He coughed and stepped back, shaking the fantasy from his head just in time to hear Jon holler, “Your laces!”

By the time Damian processed this he was already on the ground. Bruised butt and eye level now with his best friend. Jon was biting back another fit of laughter. 

Damian tied his boots as Jon laughed through his apologies.

“Jon.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to kill you.” And just like that, they were fighting. Laughing. Chasing each other through the woods like they were still new to the world of vigilantism. Concerns of boyfriends, self-doubt and the urge to subdue one's powers and personality, left behind on the lake’s bank. 

They stayed out till Louis called them for dinner.

-

Damian’s shoulder bag was held in a vice, as he walked to his car. His university lecture had ended early, allowing him to take the preferred backroads on his way to Tim’s apartment.

The trees were already baren. 

He hadn’t looked at his phone, choosing instead to rehearse how to talk to Tim. Reword. Practice again. Imagine Tim’s reaction. Imagine the worst reaction. Think of how Tim, of all people, knows and loves him. Repeat. He didn’t even consider needing to check for a text. 

Damian knocked on Tim’s door and was met with silence. He counted thirty seconds before knocking again. Nothing. 

Damian sucked air through his teeth. He reached into his pocket to see Tim had texted him. He had texted him three times. One explaining that he was worried about his meeting would running over. Another confirming it and telling Damian to use the spare key. The last, written by Tam Fox, telling Damian that Tim can have his phone back when the meeting is over. 

Phishing through his bag, Damian felt a surge of excitement as he pushed the bundled fabric back. The cashmere sparking a twist of anxiety and excitement.

Unlocking the doors, Damian took in the state of his lover’s apartment. Three different mugs, two glasses and a strange collection of electrical parts were scattered across the room. One sweatshirt laid over the back of the couch alongside a pile of miscellaneous blankets, and an unfinished modification to what looked like a hard drive, sat on the coffee table.

Tim had taken to tidying before Damian visited. The two pretended it wasn’t happening, but Damian was silently giddy over it. 

It was clear, Tim had not had the time to clean today. This was the true state of Tim’s apartment when Damian was not around. 

It was reassuring. 

Although a bit cluttered, the space was not disgusting. Nothing rotting. No spills. Just a normal mess, easily fixed. Damian had commented numerous times that Tim did not leave Robin’s nest in disarray. He knew how to keep a space clean, and should treat his home with respect. Damian couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride. Timothy was listening to him.

He toed off his shoes and hung his coat. Damian collected the dishes, ignoring the urge to inspect the sweatshirt, and began to rinse them in the sink. Once done, he collected the spare parts of machinery and arranged them on the countertop. He did the same with the papers. He left the kitchen table clear for dinner. Each document was related to the innovation lab, Damian noted. Tim kept very little pertaining to his vigilantism in his apartment. There were caves and nests for that. 

Damian looked at his phone. Tim was on his way. He folded the blankets. 

The harddrive, Damian left untouched on the coffee table. A few months back, Damian had fiddled with Tim’s work before a gala. The resulting argument, caused them both to be late and arrive in foul moods. Bruce had lectured them that evening on not allowing their relationship to interfere with Enterprise Events. Damian apologized, explaining he was attempting to help and Tim opened up a bit on his need for control. Although difficult, the fight had brought them closer together. 

The memory reassured Damian of his request. Timothy would understand. They could avoid the fighting stage, by being honest from the start. 

Unsure of what to do, Damian made his way to the sweatshirt. He had been avoiding it. Circling it. Trying not to give in. It was red, which offered no clues, and flipped so that any logo faced the couch. Damian took the sleeve in his hand. Red could be mean any of Tim’s friends. Too many heroes wore red. Bart. Cassie. Kon. Cissie. But the red also meant it could be Tim’s. Stephanie rarely wore red. Dick, Damian was sure, only owned blue or black sweatshirts. He began to flip it over. Jason probably owned a red sweatshirt that Tim could steal. 

The logo was the rebel alliance. Star Wars. 

Damian let loose the tension he had not realized he was holding. This was Tim’s sweatshirt. The oil stain on the front pocket reassured him of that. Damian picked at the black as he padded over to the sink. Running it under the water, he rolled his shoulders back before dabbing it with detergent. 

What if the sweatshirt had been Cassie’s? Would it really upset him that much? Tim had always worn other people’s clothing. Hell, more than half of his suits had been Jason’s first. But the thought still nagged at him. Damian and Tim had been dating for over a year now, and Tim had never, in that time, worn Damian’s clothes. 

He turned off the sink and laid the sweatshirt out on the counter. He would encourage Tim to toss the sweatshirt in the wash. Curious, Damian walked to Tim’s bedroom. 

First, he noticed that Tim had actually made his bed. A small touch of warmth spread through his chest, as he opened the closet. Second, he confirmed his suspicion. Tim’s hamper was, indeed, full. More than full. Spilling over. A pair of purple socks with waffles caught his attention. 

Stephanie. 

He shut the closet with a bit more force than necessary as Tim called out, “Damian? Are you here?”

Damian walked back into the main room. “You need to do the laundry.” Tim looked up from his shoes with an amused grin. 

“That bad?”

“You’ve been worse.” Tim straightened and pushed off his sneakers. It was casual Friday and he was wearing dark jeans, and a button-down covered by a sweater. His coat and scarf were already hung. 

Tim looked around the room as he made his way over to Damian. Silently, Tim cataloged the movement of each item. “You cleaned for me?

“You were late,” Damian pouted. Tim turned his head to see his coffee table project was left untouched. As his smile spread Damian noted that his hair was tied back. A satin scrunchie. Damian had not seen it before. 

Tim cupped Damian’s cheeks and kissed him. “Thank you.” Damian returned the smile. “I’m sorry I was late.”

“Things happen,” Damian murmured before kissing Tim again. The kiss was slow, warm, and reminded Damian that Tim adored him. Appreciated his need to care. Understood why he cleaned instead of sat, waiting on his phone. 

Damian lifted his hand to slide over Tim’s ear and into his hair. Scratched just a bit, and reviled in the release of Tim’s breath. His own stresses melting away under his touch. His fingers tugged, and he asked, “Since when do you wear scrunchies?”

Tim pulled back and reached for the tie. “Nuts,” he puffed. His face tight as he explained, “This is Tam’s. She made me promise I wouldn’t leave the office with it.” Tim reached into his pocket and began to text. Damian dropped his own hands. 

He walked to his bag and pulled out the sweater as Tim frantically apologized to Miss. Fox. Tim was still mumbling, “She already noticed and said I always steal her hair ties.”

“Clearly,” Damian confirmed, “you do.”

“I just forget.”

“You forget quite often,” Damian answered. He kept the sweater folded in his hands as he leaned against the back of the couch. 

“Not that often.” 

“You could fill your wardrobe on stolen clothing alone.” Tim looked up at that. His cheeks rosy, but mouth pressed tight. He reached up to undo his hair and placed the scrunchie next to his phone on the kitchen table. His eyes fell to the sweater. It was black with a long stripe of gold. Embroidered along it were the words ‘GOTHAM STATE UNIVERSITY’. The fold showcased them perfectly. 

“I could no-”

“You could,” Damian interrupted. “Don’t think I am bringing this up to criticize.” Tim’s head tilted, as Damian continued, “Everyone expects it.” Tim winced, embarrassment clear in his ever reddening cheeks. “You’re a clothing thief and I am not asking you to stop. I am, however, asking you why you never steal my clothes? I have offered.”

Tim’s eyes darted away from Damian whose fingers were tightening on the fabric. He watched as Tim turned the question over. Inspected it. Turned it over once more. Checked it again. He had been caught in his crime and was looking for the punishment. The catch. Where did Damian’s anger actually lay?

Damian forced himself to focus on his breathing as he waited. He did not want to push the subject. He did not want Tim to think he was angry or jealous. Any flash of reactionary anger and Damian risked being misunderstood. 

“I,” Tim stammered, “I have worn them.” Heat tinged Damian’s ears. “Like when you were in the next room or something. Like I may have put on your shirt, or something.” His voice trailed, leaving Damian to chase after it.

“Why keep it a secret?”

Tim rolled his lips together and looked up at the ceiling, “Cause you take care of your clothes. I didn’t want to worry you. Kon or Steph, they don’t really care if I ruin a t-shirt or lose their socks. But like, you do care. I mean, you press your T-shirts, Dami.” They locked eyes at that. Damian felt no shame. Why would he wear something wrinkled if he could avoid it? “It just wasn’t worth the risk of a fight.”

Damian pushed off the couch and held the sweater out to Tim. The fear of fighting still gripped at them both. Years of animosity and old habits nipped at their heels. 

He pushed the sweater a bit closer to his lover. “I want you to wear this.” Tim breathed in through his nose. “I would prefer it not to be ruined, but I understand the risk. I believe it is worth it.” 

Tim’s mouth curved, as he reached forward. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, searching for something. “Well,” he spoke with very little confidence, “sure.” 

Damian tugged it back and Tim’s attention shifted back to his face. “I want to be clear.” He paused to emphasize the seriousness. “I am not asking you to wear this because I am jealous.”

Tim smacked his lips as his eyes rolled. “Ok.”

“In fact,” Damian clarified, “I sometimes like the pieces you steal from your friends and family.”

“Ok.” 

“Like the scrunchie today. It suits you.”

“Damian.”

“Don’t give it back to Tam.” 

Tim reached out to hold Damian’s hands. “I have to give it back Dami.”

“She’ll forget about it.”

“She never forgets anything.” Damian’s mouth twisted in disappointment and Tim tacted on a, “I’ll get a pack scrunchies.” He caressed Damian’s thumb. “Ones with bows and maybe even little bats.”

Damian careened forward, lowering his eye level to Tim’s. “Now you’re mocking me”

“A little,” Tim answered, curving so that the temptation to kiss grew. 

Damian took a breath before continuing, “Me saying I like the scrunchie doesn’t mean I would like you to dress more feminine.”

Tim dropped his hold, “I didn’t think it did.” His brows pinched as he frowned. “Have you been reading Vikki’s comment section?”

“I try not to”

“Try harder,” Tim commanded. “I wear what I want to wear. I don’t care what some reporter has to say on it, especially Vikki.” Tim swayed back on his heels before lunging up to his toes, causing Damian to reel back. “And right now, I want to wear your sweater, Damian.” 

Damian swallowed as Tim fell back. He reached behind him to press up against the kitchen table. Once perched on it, he grabbed at the bottom of the sweater he was wearing. Damian simply watched as Tim pulled the fabric over his head, enthralled by each shake and shimmy. His finger slowly began to undo his button down. 

Damian stepped back to get a better view, as fractions of skin became visible. Tim’s nimble fingers popped each button with practiced precision and arousal cut across his features. He dipped his shoulder and pulled the open shirt apart. To a stranger, the movement may have been described as demure, but Damian knew better. Knew Tim. He knew that as he shucked off his shirt, he was also deciding how he wanted this. How he wanted Damian. 

He motioned for the sweater. 

Damian handed it over without thinking. Tim didn't unfold it right away but instead ran his thumb over the stitched letters, before appreciating the feel of cashmere on his skin. A tinge of worry scrunched his nose and Damian spoke without thought, “I don’t care if you ruin it.” Tim glanced up from beneath fanned eyelashes. “I only care that you wear it.” 

Tim’s skin raised at the reassurance, and Damian fought the urge to kiss at his goosebumps. Subdue them till they were hot and sticky, clenched, and begging for more. Tim unfolded the sweater, flipped it, and stopped. 

A second word was embroidered on the strand of gold.

WAYNE. 

Tim’s breath was loud and shaky as he lifted a hand to stroke it. Damian felt nothing but heat. He bit his lip, rubbed his sweaty palm on his jeans, and asked, “Do you mind?” 

Tim peered back at him. Damian knew that Tim had a complicated relationship with the title. He had insisted for years that the press refer to him as Drake. He had kept his last name emphasized on each and every document and although it had not been spoken, Damian was sure Tim would hold on to it, even in marriage. Damian would be lying if he had not too, dreamed of adding the name Drake to his long list of titles. 

Their save the dates would look ridiculous. 

“Why would I mind?” The honesty seemed to drip from Tim’s words. “I am yours after all.” With that, Tim lifted the sweater over his head and over his chest. Once on, Tim ran his hand through his hair and tugged down the edges, smoothing it all into place. Tim pawed at the collar in order to sniff it. Test if it smelt like his lover. 

Damian’s mouth went dry. The words seemed to echo, and slow down as Tim sat back. His sweater was on Tim. His boyfriend. His.

This request, Damian was sure, was not about jealousy. But possession? Damian attempted to wet his lips again. Maybe it was a little about possession. 

Damian must have been staring for a while for Tim soon began to fidget. “Do you-”

Anticipating Tim’s question Damian took one large step forward and answered with a deep and heavy, “I love it,” before gripping the back of Tim’s neck and kissing him. It was sharp, electric, but not filled with want. Want was not the right word. 

Damian had. 

Had Tim in his hands, on his mouth, and in his sweater. Damian kissed, as though promising, he would never let Tim go. 

And Tim gave in so easily. It wasn’t as if Damian never led. He did, but the occasion was rare. Tim was simply the more experienced of the two. His need for control often blend into the bedroom, but as Damian opened his mouth, Tim followed. Trailed a tongue, and Tim shivered. Bit down, and Tim whined. 

Damian felt Tim grab at his chest, curling his fist into the fabric. Damian gripped the back of Tim’s neck and tugged. Their lips parted and Damian stared at Tim’s flushed face. Wet Lips. Eyes half-lidded, and breath ragged, raising and falling without rhyme or reason. 

Tim lifted his chin expecting another kiss when Damian instead gripped his hair a bit tighter, forcing Tim to bend. Damian latched onto his neck, right above the start of his collar. His collar. Damian’s sweater. 

Sliding on the table Tim’s hips bucked forward, and their untouched erections finally found friction. Damian refused to let Tim tip backward and pressed his free hand onto the table. Rutting, Tim arched in his grasp as Damian bit and sucked along his neck. “God Damian,” Tim moaned, “If I had known.” Damian pulled back only to kiss Tim again, swallowing his thoughts. Damian did not want to hear any “ifs”. Did not want to think. He had explained himself. Now he simply wanted to act.

He left Tim wrecked on the kitchen table. The only thing still contenting them was Tim’s hands on to Damian’s chest. 

Damian inspected the hickey. It peaked out from beneath the sweater, red and vibrant. Damian imagined it later. Purple and dark, blending to become a part of the fibers.

When he finally peeled his eyes back to Tim’s face, he was greeted with widened pupils. The black almost eclipsing the blue. 

Deliberately slow, Damian stepped between Tim’s legs and slipped a hand beneath the sweater. Tim quivered as Damian outlined the muscles. Lightly drawing a pattern across each rivet of flesh. 

Tim pushed forward to kiss, but Damian caught him under his palm before their lips could meet. Tim’s eyes seemed to plead, as Damian let loose a heavy breath and shoved Tim back against the table. 

Tim let his grip fall as he sprawled out before him. He panted as Damian’s hand trailed the outline of his erection. His hips pressed up into the touch and Damian recoiled. 

This was new. This teasing. Although Damian had taken the lead, he had always given in to Tim. If Tim wanted a kiss, he got it. A touch and Damian obliged. But this was different. 

Tim’s face clenched in desperation, and Damian let his own arousal wash over him. Tim hooked his feet behind Damian’s calves and tugged, causing Damian’s knees to buckle. Clever, Damian thought as he grabbed on to Tim’s thighs. Purposefully he kept his own hips back, stopping them from colliding with Tim’s. 

“What?” Damian asked and Tim’s brow quirked. He all but glared at his lover. “I told you what I want,” Damian continued, his voice thick and low. He took a breath to ensure the next words came out as measured as possible, “Tell me what you want Timothy.” 

Tim’s hips squirmed and he dropped his legs from pushing at Damian’s. He rolled his neck to look away. Damian couldn’t help but smile. His erection throbbed in his jeans. Begging to touch and be touched, but Damian waited and this time, with Tim beneath him, squirming with desperate want, it was easy. 

“I want,” Tim began, “to suck you off.” And Damian considered it. He considered letting Tim get on his knees to suck him off in the kitchen but decided, no. Not today. 

“No.” Tim’s eyes snapped back to Damian’s. A mix of worry and anger, pinching at his face as he pushed onto his elbows. Tim’s mouth gaped like he was about to speak but Damian beat him to it. “I want to eat you out,” and Tim fell back to the table. “I want to open you up, slowly, and with all the attention this world can offer.” Tim lifted his arm to fold them over his eyes and groaned from behind clenched teeth. “I want to make you cum. Make sure you know that no one else can make you cum like me. Ensure it.” Damian bent forward to kiss at Tim’s erection. “Then I want to fuck you.” 

Tim shuddered and lifted his arm just enough to watch Damian undo his jeans. “I want to fuck you in that sweater. With my name stitched into your back. Our name. I want to take your hips and guide them back and forth onto my throbbing cock.” 

Damian looked down to see Tim’s feet were barely touching the ground. He tugged Tim down the table and tapped under these hips. Tim’s eyes were swimming in the fantasy, and Damian made his command as clear as possible, “Rollover.” 

Tim squeezed his eyes shut as he pushed off the kitchen counter. Mesmerized, Damian gripped at his own cock, kneading it through his jeans. The friction beginning to feel almost painful as Tim settled back on the table. His feet firmly planted now, and his body bent at the waist. 

When Tim opened his eyes, Damian could see how badly he was wanted.

Damian pulled his own sweater off and undid his jeans. The release was almost enough to send him over so he was careful not to touch. He kicked off his pants with deliberate focus. He knew he was being watched, and the worst thing would be to slip right now. Tim sighed and Damian instantly becomes aware that Tim was touching himself. 

He gripped Tim’s hips, tugged, and causing Tim to stumble back. Ass pressed against Damian’s hardened cock, Damian caught Tim’s elbow, pulling it away from his own dick. Damian swallowed. The adrenaline coursing through him was overwhelming. He had never denied Tim’s pleasure. He wondered if he went too far and his grip went limp. 

Tim must have felt the change in pressure for he used his free hand to push up. “I like it.” The words poured out of Tim so quickly they almost melded together. They both tried to focus through the haze of arousal. “I like this Damian. A lot. I promise I’ll tell you if I don’t but right just like keep this up. Tell me what to do or what not to do. Whatever, just don’t stop.” He was almost pleading now and the new tone of voice made Damian’s cock pulse. 

It took a long second for him to catch up and stammer an unconfident, “then don’t touch yourself.” Tim plopped back on the table, pulling his arm away from Damian. Both palms laid firmly and visable. Tim looked back at him with silent anticipation. Damian cleared his throat and tried again. This time, his voice was gruff and commanding, “Only I can touch you.”

Tim shivered and nodded. 

Damian took the encouragement and clutched the back of Tim’s jeans, pulling them and his boxers down together. Damian felt as Tim’s cock sprung free. The relief clear in his shoulder blades. Damian’s eyes settled on the words. The name on Tim’s back. He pressed his thumbs into Tim’s hips, with enough pressure to bruise and dropped to his knees. 

Damian kneaded Tim’s ass, enjoying how easily color came to his skin. He squeezed experimentally, and Tim seemed to yelp at his nails. He thought of stopping to check but remembered the trust between them. He squeezed again, this time a bit rougher and Tim’s legs shifted back to follow the tug. Damian kissed him, at the edge of his thigh, before licking a stipe over his cheek. He bit down. Tim groaned and hips swiveled looking for friction. Damian considered reaching around to touch Tim’s cock but decides against it. 

He knew what he wanted. 

He cupped Tim’s ass and spread him wide enough to lick against the puckered flesh. The desperation from Tim rand in his ears, as he kissed, sucked, licked, and began to press his thumb against his entrance. Tease. Push in. Pull out. Tim almost rocked against his mouth, and Damian’s head went hot. He reached for his own cock and wiped at the pearling cum. Spreading it against the head. Tim was saying his name now. Calling it. Begging with it. 

Damian slid his thumb in. Tight. Too tight, and he began to kiss again. Tim’s knees were shaking, and Damian had to remove his hand from his cock to hold Tim up. He tried his thumbs again and it began to open. Something guttural came from Tim, his face pressed against the table. He was sweating as Damian pulled his thumb out. Feeling Tim clench he pressed in with another finger and pressed up. Tim hisses and arched and all at once he was shaking. Every inch of him.

The name ‘Damian’ and word ‘please’ spilled out on the table as Tim came. Damian bit back a smile and held Tim through it. He almost slipped back off the table. Damian waited till his breathing softened, ignoring his own cock’s desperate pleas. He breathed in time with Tim and stood, pressing kisses up his skin as he rucked up the sweater. 

“God Damian,” Tim whispered and Damian’s heart clenched, “That was-” 

Damian stepped back, keeping only one finger on Tim back before commanding, “Don’t move.” Wobbling, Tim caught himself, and Damian stood to retrieve lube from his backpack and a washcloth. 

When he returned, Tim was stretching his arms over the opposite edge of the table, pulling himself to stay on his feet. Damian kneeled to wipe the cum from the floor and asked, “are you tired?” 

Tim lets go of the table and pushed against his triceps, “Damian,” he said. Damian tossed the cloth aside and massaged the muscle of Tim’s leg. If Tim was too tired, they would figure out an alternative. “Damian Wayne.” This gripped his attention and he stalled his hands. When nothing else came Damian stood to meet his lover’s eyes. Dark, determined, and without any hesitation, Tim asked, “Would you please fuck me?” 

Damian uncapped the lube. 

Tim watched, half-lidded as Damian slicked up his fingers. A mixture of pleasure, and excitement playing against his features. Damian leaned over to kiss Tim. Tenderness swept between them as Damian began to press at Tim’s anus. His fingers circled and a soft breath escaped from Tim as he pressed in. Tim turned to bury his forehead against the table, and Damian kissed a trail along his neck to his spine. 

Damian began to really tempt now. Once twice, again until Tim unraveled beneath him. Damian took his time, understanding that Tim may be overstimulated. He could wait. He wanted this to be good. Wanted them both to enjoy it. Tim rocked with the motion, rewarding Damian with groans and whimpers as each new finger was added. Damian stopped kissing to grab at the lube once more. He pulled out and Tim whines half-heartedly. He knows the loss will be short-lived. 

Silently Damian was happy for the pause. Although pleased, his erection had slowed. It was no longer on edge. If he had attempted to fuck Tim earlier, the act would have been over in an instant. He rubbed the lube onto his cock and admired the word before him.

WAYNE. 

Deep down, they both know it was silly. Tim was already a Wayne. On the ride over Damian questioned, if instead, he should have commissioned a sweater to read AL-GHUL but quickly dismissed the idea. Too much bad blood. No, Tim understood. This Wayne was different. It was Damian’s. Not Bruce’s. Not even Thomas’s. Tim understood that the name Wayne meant something different for Damian than it did for Tim. 

The name was Damian’s and so he continued to claim it. “Timothy, earlier you said you belonged to someone. Who was that?” He subdued the rising doubt as he lined his cock up against Tim’s entrance. Subdued the fear that Tim might judge him. 

“Yours,” Tim answered quelling that worry. 

“Can you reword that?” Damian asked and Tim chuckled in a way that Damian recognized as loving. Cataloging Tim’s laughter had proven to be extremely useful. 

“I am yours,” Tim started happy to play along. “I belong to Damian Wayne.” 

Damian grinned as he began to press in. His body shuddering with delight. “And I,” he started, “Belong to Timothy Jackson Drake.” Tim shuttered at the phrasing causing Damian to groan as he pressed in. Deep into Tim. The world turned white. Splotched hot and speckled with the knowledge that they belonged to each other. 

Soon, Damian gathered the strength to move. Pattern coming quickly to him. Coordinating with Tim, once he stopped fighting it, had come naturally. Easily. No matter the circumstance they always figured out how to fit together. 

Tim was sweating, his body glistening under the harsh kitchen light. The sweater no doubt was trapping heat. Damian thrusted a bit harder and focused on Tim’s muffled gasps. His hips snapped, and obscene noise simply drove him to fuck Tim harder. Damian couldn’t think. Didn’t want to. All he wanted was this. This pleasure. This sound. This feeling of Tim wrapped around him. 

His hips became erratic. Damian panted and fell forward, hands braced on either side of Tim’s back. He closed his eyes, stopping for a moment, and shifted his footing. He was attempting to regain some composure when Tim’s hand reached back to grab his wrist. “So good Damian. Don’t think. Don’t stop. Just fuck me.” And Damian did. 

His mind subdued with pleasure, and body at the mercy of Tim, they fucked with little to no control. Tim groaned throatily beneath him, involuntarily clamping down on Damian as he came a second time. Damian silently applauded himself and let each and every muscle release. Permission to cum clear. His orgasm stretched across his body, convulsing like fire beneath his skin. He collapsed on top of Tim as a flurry of Tim and Timothy peppered the space between them.

The aftershocks ran through Damian like waves before setting into glorious satisfaction. It wasn’t until Tim shook his hips, that Damian remembered he can’t sleep here. He pulled out and Tim pushed himself off the table half woozy, and half giddy into Damian’s arms. They kissed only once before pressing their foreheads together. 

The hot air held them tightly together. 

Tim took a deep breath and pulled his arms into the sweater. “Don’t get me wrong,” he started, pulling the fabric over his head, “that was amazing. But I’m overheating.” Damian simply started at Tim. The man was naked and still, Damian knew he was utterly his. He kissed him once more before Tim stepped back to grip the table again. His sheepish smile spread adoration through Damian. “Lil’ shaky,” Tim admitted and Damian nodded. 

Fatigue was slowly becoming apparent. Tim glanced down at the cloth and grimaced. “I would but,” and Damian raised a hand. He understood Tim’s discomfort with bending at this very moment. 

Once cleaned enough to move, Tim lead them both to the shower, tossing all of their clothes into the hamper on the way. Sweater included. They took their time. Slow kisses, and delicate fingers. No rush. No need. Just joy in each other's touch. Tim was drying Damian’s hair when he asked, “Did you bring pajamas?” 

Damian peered out from beneath the towel and shook his head. He never forgot. Picking a sweater must have distracted him. Tim blinked and smiled, “So,” he cooed and Damian could feel his amusement, “you need to borrow something for the night?’ 

“It would seem so,” he grinned back and Tim gave him a small peck before wrapping a towel around his waist. Tim led Damian into his bedroom, placing him down on the bed. “Though I doubt we will find something that fits.”

“Hah. Hah,” Tim mocked, “We’ll find something. If it happens to be super tight so be it.” Tim winked before opening his mess of a closet. Damian flopped back onto the bed. Contentment lulling him to an almost dream-like state. He rolled to his side and took a breath. The smell of Tim surrounding his senses. 

As he drifted, he knew one thing to be true.

Damian Wayne belonged to Timothy Drake. 

What a perfect thought that proved to be.

**Author's Note:**

> I know some people might not like how I played with their last names, but I hope that didn’t disrupt your reading. I always think of Tim as Tim Wayne-Drake but Tim Drake is more essential in the same way that I think of Damian as Damian Al-Ghul - Wayne but the Damian Wayne is something Damian clings to. Damian isn’t deleting a part of Tim in this story more as establishing a new connection to the last name alongside Tim.
> 
> Feedback is extremely appreciated!


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